Juggling
by Ava Telcontar
Summary: Jareth and Valentine talk about their respective women problems.Mirrormask crossover


There are more directions then are shown on a compass. Up and down, north, south, east, west are pretty mundane and go to mundane places. Then there are the other directions that are summed up in bits of riddles and scraps of poetry. 'East of the sun and West of the Moon', or even 'East of Oz and West of Shangri-la', 'Beyond the Fields we Know', 'Over the Rainbow', 'Second Star to the Right and Straight on Till Morning'. And the places that these directions take us are anything but ordinary.

Think of a crossroad between two reams, a soft place where a land of muted grays and endless mazes meets a land of sharply defined shadows and light. One realm is known for goblins and swamps and oubliettes and the other realm has flying books and sphinxes and monkey-birds.

At this crossroad, this soft place two men are juggling. Although, men is probably the wrong descriptor even if to be sure they are both male, just because a biped is male it doesn't necessarily follow that they are indeed men.

The one that harks from the land of mazes is tall and thin. He gives the impression of a glittery bird of pray. His wild white-blond hair pulls away from his face in a stylishly mess, his face is beautiful in a austere bordering on cruel way with an eye of ice blue and an eye of tawny brown. And then there is the outfit…a black shirt adorned with ruffles and puffy sleeves, next the pants, the indecently tight black leather pants. At his throat a golden pendant in the shape of a downwards crescent moon glitters.

He juggles spheres of translucent glass.

The other who hails from a place of contrasts has charming rogue written all over his face. Or it would if you could get a proper look at his face. He is wearing a mask. This mask covers his face from the top of his head to just under his nose. The top of the mask mimics his spiky hair, the mask itself is white with a purple streak down the middle, and you cannot see his eyes for he sees out of two tiny holes. The bits of his face you can see are well formed, with a cynical laughing mouth and a chin covered with a short goatee. He lacks the sartorial splendor of the other juggler wearing a loose white robe over simple trousers and a maroon shirt.

He juggles small orange balls that glow in the dark.

They juggle in comfortable silence. Until the masked one's mind wanders off in the direction of a circus and he drops a ball. A sharp "Oi!" and a muffled curse are heard as he chases it down in the half-light.

The one with the mismatched eyes does not offer to help.

A moment latter the fellow in the mask takes his place and after a few false starts begins to juggle again.

The other raises one pale eyebrow. "Having troubles?" It was a voice filled with music and magic, the indifferent tone, however; quite plainly says that he does not care about his companion's troubles; he's only asking to be polite.

"If by troubles… you mean that I'm pining over a girl who saved the world and then just left and never bothers to visit. No. No troubles at all." This voice is pleasant and all unconsciously cajoling as if too con you out of a week's salary.

An aristocratic eyebrow rises. "Ah." His voice holds something like sympathy. Like American cheese is like real cheese…a substitute sympathy, half the fat and half as filling as the real thing. Normally, he wouldn't even make the effort but, in this case…he was all too familiar with unrequited love. Mask-boy had it bad.

"I knew a girl once," The graceful hands guiding the glass globes paused. "She never visits me either."

The mask turns towards the other. "What did you do?" It is universally acknowledged that if two people stop taking…it's never the female's fault. Even if the male has no idea what he did wrong.

"I lived up to her exhausting expectations." Thin lips twisted into a sneer.

Eyes behind a mask blinked, "Do you think selling her out to a dark queen made her angry…I didn't apologize. And why should I? I'm a very important man…I have a tower. Anyway I did save her. That should have made up for it." He had stopped listening as he foraged for his own transgression against an unreasonable female.

"I asked for so little. Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be you slave. I even reordered time and I did it all for her!" The crystal spheres turned faster.

"And then I find out she's the creator of my world…talk about complicating a relationship."

This breaks fae's (yes fae, you can see his upswept ears under his wild hair) out of his reverie. The spheres come to a stop. A startled expression is soon smoothed out. "Let me see if I understand. The girl who you are not pining over is your creator?"

"Sort of. She drew my world in the void." A thoughtful pause came from the masked juggler, "Although, there is the distinct possibility that I was dreamed up by her mother."

"And you sold her out to a dark queen? Well, I suppose that's little better then stealing a baby brother." The taller of the two conceded.

Orange balls came to a stop. "You stole her baby brother? That's much worse! And at least I came through with an amazingly heroic rescue…"

"Look, I don't feel the need to explain my actions to anyone, least of all you. Anyway, she said the words—what's said is said—I only did what she asked."

"I haven't seen my girl since she went back to her reality…I think I would rather she was mad at me instead of forgetting all about me. Is yours angry."

A pause. "Oh Yes." Her considerable anger was more than equal to his own. Kingdom as great indeed.

"Have you tried saying your sor…sorr…something apologetic?"

"I don't say sorry. And even if I did, even if I presented myself before her with abject debasement she'd never believe it."

The masked one sighed, "I'm not pining. But I do miss her. Even if she had appalling taste in footwear."

The other juggler was silent.

Aristocrats. Thought the less sparkly male with disgust…the concertina playing snob probably was too proud to admit to missing his girl. The conman's own pride had skittered away when he forgot the sound of a voice.

"Even if I did…miss the wench, I can't come unless invited," muttered the noble.

The rogue slumped, "I can't even see mine. No matter how many windows I look out…no cuddly sea anemones. It's not fair."

"I wonder what your basis for comparison is." Murmured the other sardonically.

Something in the pocket of a white robe wriggled. "Hang on." The man in the masked pulled a small red book out of his pocket. **'A Really Useful Book'** was written on the cover. He flung it up in the air where it hovered for a moments before perching on the end of his nose.

The masked juggler plucked the book from his face. "That's not at all helpful!"

Written on the pages of the small book is the legend '_**Why don't you look under your bed?**_'

The book's pages rustled in a way to indicate that some people were just too thick for words. Then the book fluttered over to the juggler who glimmered faintly in the twilight. Long thin fingers gripped the book and looked with mismatched eyes. _**'Should you need us.'**_

Revelation hit like a small sphinx thrown onto one's head. The Charm was under his bed. The Creator's Charm…that gives you what you need. The smile that erupted under the mask had the look of someone casing a casino for the score of a lifetime.

As for the other juggler his expression only changed with the edge of one side of a mouth quirking up. She had said she needed all of them. And she didn't specify who she meant by all.

The two jugglers having found loopholes in their similar dilemmas forgot all about each other.

The one in the mask signaled for a flying tower, the one that glittered simply turned into an owl and flew away.

The jugglers have names that taste of adventure and intrigue and just a bit of romance.

Jareth.

Valentine.

Two girls who may or may not be named Sarah and Helena are going to be in for a surprise.


End file.
